


Six songs for the second born.

by LadySpearWife



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Affection, Alqualondë, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Canon Era, Elves, First Age, Gen, Happy, Mother-Son Relationship, Music, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending, Sad and Happy, Short & Sweet, The Noldor, Tirion, Years of the Trees, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpearWife/pseuds/LadySpearWife
Summary: Five cheerful times for the second born and one realization that hurts.





	Six songs for the second born.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for eventual mistakes, my English sucks.
> 
> Nelyo (Nelyafinwë) = Maedhros.  
> Makalaurë = Maglor.  
> Tyelko (Tyelkormo) = Celegorm.  
> Curvo (Curufinwë) = Curufin.  
> Telvo (Telufinwë) = Amras.

_I._

Nelyo’s smile is bright and wide, full of delight and happiness, and that's all that Makalaurë needs to know that this song, the first one he composed by himself, sounds good, is a font of pleasure to those who hear it.

His brother hugs him tightly all the same – and it feels so _comfortable_ to be in his arms –, and the pride in his voice is thick and heavy while he says that their family will have the best singer of Aman in some years.

The Laurelin’s light is at its peak, and he’s happy beyond words now.

_II._

Tyelko and Curvo are difficult children, most say politely, but the truth is they are impossible separated and even more together. Makalaurë, however, doesn't care about what people talk about his family or how his little brothers behave.

So when asked, he sits in the gardens, pretending to play his harp alone and contemplative, and tells them who would become good targets in their endless games.

Telvo comes to him in complete disarray. He laughs loudly and helps the youngest one to make himself proper again, knowing who did this and keeping the little secret that everyone can see.

_III._

Alqualondë is impossibly beautiful and there’s music in the air, mixed with ocean and cheerfulness. Makalauë loves the haven more than he could imagine that’d be possible and, even if this visit is just beginning, he already needs to come here again.

King Olwë’s court is merriest and warmest in all Aman: all joyful songs, endless parties, no need of suffocating formality and the kindest reception he could think of.

The lighthearted, bright days are an eternal amount of freedom that Tirion, idyllic and home and glorious as it is, can’t copy, can’t even perceive the need of this.

_IV._

Maybe his mother is not beautiful as Queen Indis and her daughters are, but she’s strong, fierce, smart and unbowed like no one else can hope to be in their lives, and Makalaurë loves her so much that his heart aches sometimes.

Nerdanel is passionate about her beloveds and has her own thoughts and plans her actions calmly. All she touches become as perfect as her unique sculptures, creations that put his mind to work and he has hundreds of songs that began looking at them.

_She laughs in the feats in Grandfather’s halls even when most call her improper._

_V._

Makalaurë has a talent for words, his father used to say when he was young and began to write his own songs alone, fascinated with music and sounds. Now, everyone who watches his presentations repeats those words aloud with wonder in their eyes and it’s impossible to restrain his pride in hearing this day after day.

Every time he plays and sings in a public place, and people cheer for him so hard that constructions shake with their screams, it’s a new way of discovering pleasure and happiness in his songs.

_His heart is a harp playing about joy._

_IV._

Perhaps severity is the price we pay for greatness and success, but Makalaurë is not successful and hardly can be perceived as great, so why his heart became so cold and inflexible is a very good question without an answer.

He’s a pale shadow of glory, a painful reminder of failure, a hateful ghost of mistakes, a despising quantity of cracks in a glass. However, as severe and untouching as the winter’s winds screaming and pleading.

Days blossom and die without being noticed, and he asks himself why the world became so bitter in his tongue with the years.


End file.
